


The Secret War of Ryuuji Suguro

by HaephestusCrex



Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Genre: Demon!Bon, Demon!Ryuuji, M/M, Other, Vampire!Ryuuji, WhyNot, also a cool unusual ship, dont hit me too hard for the ooc, holy shit what a mess, no direction but not too badly written, read it if you're curious and don't mind m/m, total vanity project but effort goes into it, what if the most serious exorcist loses everything he's ever sure of, yep dont rub your eyes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-09-15 11:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16932438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaephestusCrex/pseuds/HaephestusCrex
Summary: In a world where Ryuuji Suguro doesn't take the destined path, as protegee of Lewin Light, the Exwire finds himself at a critical junction in his life. His lifelong ambition of defeating Satan is, in many ways, taking too long, but being an exorcist is all he's ever known, and all he's ever wanted. He feels himself losing purpose, getting sicker and sicker, and then one day, very simply, all too quickly, his cram school life catches up with him. He turns. Ryuuji loses the certainty he once had, and his entire life is thrown into chaos as he slowly feels his humanity slip away from him. He always thought about the dangers his life as an Exorcist would hold, but this? Becoming a demon?To make matters worse, Fate, God, the powers that be, curse him twice over - when the only person he has to talk to, is a demon. Not Okumura. Not the Chairman, no - worse.The King of Earth, Amaimon - of whom Ryuuji's only memory is being strangled overhead in defence of Shiemi's honour.





	1. A Poor Way to Die

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: What possessed me to write this? I RP’d it once forever ago, stopped reading the mangas but Ryuji has a place in my heart. Is it unrealistic? Yes. Is it probably going to be OOC? Oh yeah. It’s a vanity project to take a break from my dissertation and shit. Drastically AU. Lets set it post Kyoto arc and pre everything else in the manga. I’ll update Voodoo soon too, I promise. Anyway M/M because I feel like it. Haven’t wrote that in forever.

 

**Chapter One**

_\- A Poor Way to Die -_

 

 

Japan has a preoccupation with aspects of Western culture, and True Cross Academy is nothing if not excessively involved in all things loud and lavish, so it isn’t a surprise when the two come together for some sort of overloud event. Ryuuji Suguro’s too tired for it, he’s more preoccupied with his term paper and too exhausted from his participation in a recent culture festival. His _happi_ – a festival garb that denoted membership of a team, or servitude to a family, is still in crisp form, hanging gracefully from his closet doorknob. Strangely, he hasn’t found the time to put it away, it’s like one of those very little things that constantly slips his mind as his steadfast routine and extra responsibilities creep up on him. It was rare for Ryuuji to lose focus, but he could feel himself getting sicker and sicker, and his pile of responsibilities get larger and larger. Konekomaru even advised that he take a day off or two, and promised to come over with class notes, with all of the dutiful concern in the world. He was truly a good friend, better than Shima in that regard. Not that Shima didn’t care, but he was too carefree sometimes and would take the opportunity to be sick and use it as a little holiday and an excuse not to work. It was a little bit put on though, Ryuuji knew this – Shima wouldn’t pass his tests even if he never scored as highly as Konekomaru or Ryuuji, if he didn’t study at least a little. Still though, he was far more likely to see the guy fawning over nudie magazines than cracking open a textbook.

 

He rubs his eyes and puts his pencils away, he feels disgustingly ill, and decides to put on his very small stereo on low volume. Inside it, he places a battered CD, he prefers his MP3 player, but he feels like his head would hurt so terribly if he put earbuds. Ryuuji just figured the noise would distract him from how achy he feels. Ryuuji has a routine he rarely ever breaks from, but he hasn’t been able to exercise because his bones hurt too much, so his curling weights lay in a neat stack in tucked up size-friendly apparatus. The school nurse couldn’t help much and in truth he’s felt horrid since attending a ceremonial purging several days ago of an upperclass demon that had been attacking people in the city outskirts during the earlier festival. He even considered writing home to ask if he could stay there for a while but didn’t want to overly concern the Myō Dha. If he got worse before he got better, Konekomaru even spoke about informing staff, perhaps getting Ryuuji to a hospital.

 

Ryuuji called him a worrywart and told him to focus on his studies instead of worry about him. _It’ll pass,_ he’d said, though he was starting to know better. The thing is, as rebellious and as troublesome as he appears, not only is Ryuuji bookish and smart as a whip, he’s truly remarkable in his fields. He might not be Yukio, but he’s pretty damn close, and as a result, he’s had a sneaking suspicion as to what was happening to him in secret.

 

He doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to consider it – but what happens next, all but confirms it.

 

“Ugh, damn it…!” he muttered, he’s listening to some light prayer, it is gentle and monotonous and something he meditates to, to clear his mind, but the thing he previously used to make him feel so safe and relaxed is not helping at all. In fact, Ryuuji is reminded of what tinnitus feels like when a gun is fired too closely to his ears by other practicing Dragoons if he’s not sufficiently protected.

 

It feels like tinnitus but so much worse.

 

Ryuuji gets up from his desk shakily, feeling his footing warble. He’s boiling, and glancing down, he can see sweat patches forming on his clothes. He pulled off his tie and slung it over the back of his chair, followed by his blazer, and surveys just had bad the patches are.

 

They’re embarrassingly bad, like he’d been working out in too many clothes, he has the tell-tale ring around his neck and armpits but can feel it sliding down his back and biceps causing his white school shirt to cling to his muscles. He staggered to his door, and jiggles the lock, making sure it’s shut and lazily pushes his curling apparatus in front of it to stop the door opening easily from even his own side, before flopping onto his bed, feeling drained of all strength.

 

He clammily reaches for his phone and looks through blurred eyes at the numbers he can call.

_Konekomaru Miwa -_ _三輪_ _子猫丸_

 _Shima Renzou -_ _志摩_ _廉造_

 _Suguro Tatsuma (Old Man) -_ _勝呂_ _達磨_

 _Suguro Torako (Mama) -_ _勝呂_ _虎子_

 

There’re a few members of his temple scattered in there, friends of his father, people he would associate with being the heir of Tatsuma, many he’d never so much as sent a text to, or had brief, friendly but distant conversations with. At the very bottom, there is one number that he cannot remember how long he’s had but knows for certain he’s never once felt the need to dial it. He knows of only three people possessing it, himself, Rin, and Yukio. Yukio was their teacher, and Rin was under the scope of the Vatican damn near constantly, but when all else failed, Ryuuji was always the next person of responsibility, and as a result, had the number of the Chairman. Johann Faust V, Mephisto Pheles. Samael, King of Time.

 

It is simply saved as _“Chairman -_ _会長_ _”_

 

He wondered, vaguely, if he should call the man. He’s in his school after all, posing a potential threat, and would be the authority figure to contact if not his own father. Ryuuji is forever lecturing about the value of teamwork, and how important it is not to shut people out, but in this moment of utter vulnerability, he finds himself turning his back on everything he knows.

 

His phone scrolled and highlighted the Chairman’s name, before he blearily scrolls down, and hits the button to text his mother.

 

Ryuuji’s throat feels dry, and he notices he cannot see his reflection in the case of his phone anymore.

 

For a moment, he feels utterly numb, and a warm sensation trickles down his neck from both of his ears.

 

_‘I have to tell her I love her.’_

 

He cannot remember the last time he did, and in this moment it concerns him. He contemplated doing the same with his father, for all of his arguments and the drunk old man’s faults, he loves the man and it is without question. Ryuuji knows if he does that though, Tatsuma would immediately detect something is afoot, or think that he wants something. His mother is less likely to question it, as in his early years, Ryuuji was something of a momma’s boy before it became too embarrassing and unmanly to be so.

 

He texts her that he loves her, and that extra curriculars make it hard for him to fit in a phone call these days. He doesn’t want her to think anything is wrong and adds _‘I look forward to coming home in the holidays, I hope you and the inn are doing well.’_

 

Ryuuji lays atop his bed, stretching his legs out and puts his back to his headboard. He feels like he’s being watched, but he’s felt nothing but that for the past week, so he doesn’t care. He looked down at his shoulder blades, and sees a little blood somehow got there. Deftly, Ryuuji reached for an ear and pulled his fingers back, seeing a light smattering of maroon on his fingers.

 

“Shit,” he curses softly, and reaches under his pillow for a small, cool can that Shima had given him from his stash – which Ryuuji suspects he somehow stole away from Shura. He turned the light off and the room is lit up only by his laptop screen and phone. Ryuuji isn’t one to drink but, he needs something to take the edge off, which is exactly why Shima gave him this small can of beer which, if Ryuuji was honest, was more of an alcopop than anything else. Still, it wouldn’t do well to be caught with it in the dorms or anywhere on campus.

 

He opened it and drinks the thing to a half in several massive chugs, letting himself cool for a moment and then unbuttoning some of his shirt.

 

Yeah. He really didn’t want to be caught like this. He would rather suffer with dignity – so he downs it in one and enjoys a quick lightheaded buzz before tossing it so deep into the trash it could not be seen.

 

The sweaty phone slips out of his hand onto the floor with a dull clatter but he ignores it. Ryuuji’s main focus is not hurting anyone. He knows what is happening, it isn’t hard to piece together. The upperclass demon had landed a blow, and the attending doctor had missed something – why it took this long to manifest, Ryuuji doesn’t know, but it is too late now. There is no unringing the bell, a sequence of events was in motion, and even this stubbornly rebellious-at-times boy knows when he cannot fight it.

 

He almost wants to weep, but Ryuuji isn’t one to cry often. Instead, he shakily reaches into his bedside drawer for some salt and sage, two key basics of any exorcist, His hand shakes, and he scatters some salt around in a circle around the bed, looking a little misshapen. He doesn’t know the Fatal Verse for whatever is happening, honestly, only Yukio had been equipped to properly dispense of the demon at the time, and even he had struggled profusely, Rin couldn’t even keep up.

 

Ryuuji finds himself quoting the Bible on blind faith, trying to find some peace in any religious scripture of any sort that he recalls working even if it were only for a moment.

 

 _“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me,”_ he quotes effortlessly, feeling his throat dry up in rebellion as he does so.

 

 _“Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith,”_ he lets out a low moan of pain after, nearly collapsing in a heap after completing the salt circle, he barely lights a candle, before pushing his laptop off the bed to join his phone so he has space to writhe on the mattress.

 

 _“Submit yourselves to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you."_ He wants to believe it and finds himself groaning the words _‘I submit’_ softly under his breath.

As though it does him any fucking good, it does not, and the presence watching him resists the urge to snort derisively. He watches as Ryuuji “Bon” Suguro collapses into a heap, in an out of consciousness, and finally, steps out from the window frame,

 

When the stern-faced boy begins to look helpless in his semi-consciousness, the presence finally intervenes.

 

_He looks pathetic._

 

Amaimon’s thoughts are full of scorn, though with no true vitriol behind them. In truth, he is massively indifferent towards the Exwire. This normally would not interest him, but few things do – he prefers to entertain himself with other things, but when his big brother detailed a change in the security of the school – again – not something Amaimon overly cared about, but after having it explained, it got a little intriguing.

 

_‘The protection ward for the regular non-exorcist humans, it is changing. I am going to send you, the Exwires will not handle the magnitude of what I am detecting, Amaimon.’_

In truth, Samael manipulates him very easily into doing this, by making the Earth King feel important if he does.

 

_‘I trust no one else.’_

Not even his Vatican compatriots, apparently.

 

Amaimon doesn’t normally question it, but upon looking at the passed out Ryuuji, wonders if he should have gotten some information as to why this Exwire was so important. He was an heir or something, but the Earth King confesses internally to not paying enough attention due to being distracted by a round of _Tekken._

The Earth King surveys the room, looking at the stereo and then at Ryuuji’s bleeding ears before his small eyebrows set to a tiny frown. He has a vague memory of playing with this Exwire once-upon-a-time, with that blonde girls honour on the table. It was purely to bait a response from Rin, but this foolhardy exorcist had stepped up, with all the idiotic bravery in the world, even as Amaimon held him aloft with one hand in the air, coiled in a death-grip around his throat.

 

He struggled, but he hadn’t cowered – at the time, Amaimon found him to be a rude and slightly annoying inconvenience, like a gnat. Though, looking at the soft prayer and watching Ryuuji subdue himself with great pain and agony to do so, begrudgingly brought some respect with the demon king.

 

“This is a poor way to die, Exwire,” he commented in a flat monotone, Ryuuji doesn’t stir, but Amaimon knows he heard. As a demon, they have some measure of telepathy with certain kin, or if they’re particularly powerful, and Ryuuji is screaming his thoughts with no control or wherewithal to even know he is.

 

* * *

 

 

“Big brother sent me, the Chairman,” he can tell Ryuuji isn’t with-it enough to make mental connections and can tell he’s only vaguely familiar with Amaimon’s voice in this bedraggled state.

 

“Your Turning is affecting the ward status of the school,” Amaimon comments, looking at his room and sniffing at the sage.

 

_Ah, he’s set himself up a torture chamber._

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Ryuuji isn’t argumentative, he isn’t questioning, he isn’t even on edge.

 

He just seems defeated, too defeated to protest to the disagreeable presence of the Earth King. Ryuuji’s voice is so hoarse it sounds as though he hadn’t drank in days despite the opposite, as Amaimon smells the soft beer on his breath but doesn’t comment on it.

 

“I see that,” Amaimon replied, picking at his long claw-like nails as he walks through the Exwire’s Circle of Protection with so much ease it was laughable. A lesser creature couldn’t have, and for how basic it was, Ryuuji had a certain power himself that it was effective at all without complex rune-work.

 

“Big brother said he’ll put me in Time-Out if any students wind up dead after he’s assigned me to take care of it, so, don’t worry about that. You couldn’t overpower me even if you wanted to,” he doesn’t even add a sneer or much of a gloat to this, instead, he just turns off the radio and looks at Ryuuji’s ears.

 

“You’re torturing yourself,” Amaimon said flatly, though with no particular empathy in his tone, noting that the Exwire still hadn’t opened his eyes. “This is all to weaken you, yes?” he doesn’t expect an answer, but Ryuuji just groans softly.

 

He almost wants to tell Amaimon to fuck off if he isn’t going to help, but a sudden pathetic thought strikes out in Ryuuji’s mind so loudly that the Earth King hears it, without the boy moving his lips.

 

_I don’t want to die alone._

Amaimon freezes still for a moment, and an odd feeling needles inside of him, however miniscule it is, the longer he looks at the boy.

 

He isn’t very good at comfort and doesn’t really feel the need to until he starts to feel a little bit more than slight respect for the boy, who quietly asks if Amaimon can hear his thoughts.

 

“Yes, and if you are in too much pain to talk, that is fine. I will hear you. In this moment, your body is weak, you are projecting everything, your mortal coil is stretching, changing and adapting to something that was never supposed to be there. Your body is adjusting to the Curse, Exwire.” Amaimon is flat and emotionless and racks his brain for a moment to figure out which Demon King he would have the most kinship with.

 

It was either Astaroth or Azazel, he thinks – it’s been a very long time since he’d encountered one of these sorts.

 

Amaimon glances over Ryuuji’s form, as his clothes cling to him through sweat, then to the small weight set by the door and muses that, if he survives, he’ll likely be even stronger than average of his kind.

 

_A missed opportunity._

Amaimon muses more, thinking about how the upperclass that did this had been utterly exterminated left the Exwire truly in a pickle, even if he didn’t know it yet, he was probably sensing it, this feeling of abandonment that had no source.

 

_The Sire is missing out. This one will be strong._

The Earth King takes a seat after leering for long enough, feeling the mattress press in under his delicate weight.

 

Ryuuji twists his head up to look up at Amaimon, though his eyes are swollen as though he’d been crying, even though Amaimon hadn’t caught him doing so. He’s sweating and too tired to fight it, even though he’s trying – it is why he is in so much pain.

 

“Mantras…?” his voice cracked out, they used to comfort him, but now they kind of hurt.

 

“I turned it off,” Amaimon states flatly “-what is happening to you is painful enough, Exwire,”.

 

_‘Su-gur-o’_

Amaimon withholds his surprise as the Exwire gently gives him permission to call him by name, though he isn’t sure if he’ll do it yet.

 

“Under my big brother’s rules, I am here to make sure you do not hurt anyone, so this is unnecessary,” he kicks the salt circle apart with one foot and feels Ryuuji untense as his pain lessens.

 

Ryuuji doesn’t feel comforted by Amaimon’s presence, he doesn’t fucking like the guy one bit, and this is not lost on the Earth King, so he’s utterly floored for a second when the Exwire forces himself to speak despite it hurting, and the amount of earnestness in his voice.

 

_“Thank you.”_

 

Ryuuji wasn’t sure he could live with it if he hurt someone. He wondered briefly, if this is how Okumura felt for the longest of time. Or all the time. He tries to distract himself from the pain and how aware he is of all the heartbeats and blood vessels in the building because anything is better than dwelling on those monstrous feelings. He feels imbalanced, and his surety in his future and all of his relationships was slipping.

 

Actually surviving what was happening was going to happen and that was almost unfathomable – what would his future look like then? Would he have one? Would it be better if he didn’t survive – just so his family would not have to see him this way?

 

_Should I ask the Earth King to kill me?_

“I will not,”

 

Ryuuji flinches – shit, he didn’t mean to project that thought.

 

“If any student of the True Cross dies under my watch or through me I am to face 1,000 years in Time-Out,” Amaimon quoted mindlessly “-that includes you, Exwire.”

 

He tries not to feel offended by the fact the fact that, in his delirium, the Exwire preferred dying to being a demon.

 

The candle smells nice, the sage does nothing in this context, but Amaimon finds himself at a loss for a moment. There is no love lost between the pair, but the Earth King certainly doesn’t hate the boy as much as the boy may actively dislike him since the choking incident. Looking at him like this, he is more pitiable than pathetic, and the increasing disjointedness and fright wheedling into what Amaimon could sense as an incredibly well organised and powerful mind was rather…sad.

 

He has no Sire.

 

Traditionally, a demon who is created through the corruption of another human has responsibility to the human they have Sired. There is a unique bond depending on which species has done it, and the hierarchy they have. Few demons have a Sire relationship, but they do exist – usually in more powerful and exclusive strains of demon.

 

Ryuuji’s Sire is dead.

 

He would have been Turning alone.

 

The upperclass who turned him – in their culture, this was almost unheard of, but Yukio Okumura had dispensed of all of the upperclass demons present at the time. Amaimon watches him struggle, and feels as the boy tentatively explores his new, expanding senses, and is overwhelmed by the power that exudes from Demon Kings.

 

Demons warm to power like a moth to flame, no matter what the type, so Amaimon lets himself feel vaguely flattered as Ryuuji hints in his thoughts that he wouldn’t mind if the Earth King got closer, in order to help him drown out the tinnitus feeling. The inappropriate thought strikes the aged demon in a moment, and it amuses him for a second.

 

_He’s a baby._

Freshly turned, no kills or battles under his belt besides those as an Exwire, no Sire, no nothing. It was almost like looking at Behemoth – his pet Hobgoblin in a strange, sick way. He’s new, he needs taking care of, guidance, a metaphorical leash. It’s a totally inappropriate way to look at it, but Ryuuji is so young in comparison and won’t have been inhuman for very long that, it counts.

 

 

_And he is scared._

 

Ryuuji writhes – and it becomes apparent to Amaimon that he will not go gently into the night. His mortal soul is relentless, and he doesn’t want to leave, but Amaimon can tell he’s already pushing through it from the physiological changes happening. Few survive their Turning, but, this one is strong.

 

Ryuuji doesn’t know that, though.

 

He flinches when he feels Amaimon’s claw settle on his sweaty forehead. Amaimon isn’t very good at this, but contrary to what any might think about the unapproachability of Demon Kings, he is not averse to touching others, not at all. It just isn’t typically associated with him, that’s all.

 

“Push everything out of your mind,” his anxiety thoughts are giving Amaimon a slight headache, but he says it to help the baby demon, truly.

 

“Your problems will be there tomorrow, in this moment, you will solve nothing,”

 

 _You are in too much pain,_ Amaimon projects into his mind as soothingly as he can. _So there is no point in worrying. Small One._

Ryuuji doesn’t react negatively, and the foreign feeling of missing the monster that had Cursed him keens into the strange term when in any other moment of lucidity, Ryuuji would have violently rejected such a patronising nickname, and the Earth King’s uncustomary overfamiliarity.

 

He is literally dying and Turning though, and in this moment, he accepts it. Keens for it, even, albeit reluctantly.

 

‘Small One?’

 

_‘You have no Sire. I am over one thousand years old, you will learn everything from scratch, how to smell, how to hear, how to blend, how to fight, how to eat, how to live with all of your physical changes. Like a baby. Small One. Unless you prefer me to call you Skunk-boy?’_

He comments on the blond streak in Ryuuji’s hair and gets a weak snort in reply.

 

Without Ryuuji admitting it, the Earth King makes this easier on him by swinging his feet up onto his mattress rudely, shoes and all, and sits lengthways while Ryuuji remains in a heap. The boys head moves so his nose is poking into one of Amaimon’s pant legs, and the entire muscular body relaxes instinctively.

 

“Focus on my power,” Amaimon instructs, not merely for his own ego, but because it will distract Ryuuji from his growing hungry sensations as he passes in and out of consciousness. Amaimon’s heartbeat is suddenly the most important thing in the room, and the Earth King takes this moment to grow a few vines over the door to stop it being opened, as with the window.

 

“Drown in it, let it swallow you whole,” some small flowers bud out, emitting a natural calm, as jasmine begins to unnaturally protrude from the vines and bloom instantly and with little to no effort on Amaimon’s part.

 

The room is so dark Ryuuji cannot see it, but smells it, before burying his nose deeper into the clothe pant.

 

It would be strange but, the body of the Demon King was so powerful that it felt like a homing beacon, drowning out the heartbeats of all the potentially endangered students and assuaging the horrific sensory overload Ryuuji Suguro is undergoing.

 

Amaimon lays back a bit, playing with the phone Ryuuji had unceremoniously dumped on the floor, looking to see if he had any phone games to pass the time.

 

Amaimon goes utterly still as the boy passes out again, after draping a muscular arm over his legs, the Earth King frowns, before slowly shuffling down the bed. He doesn’t find it strange, though it would certainly look it, he can tell what is happening, and decides in the moment that he needs to take the place of the Sire that Ryuuji is so sorely missing, or he would struggle to survive his Turning, and the surety he had in him doing so would be put into question.

 

Samael would punish him awfully if he risked Ryuuji like that.

 

Ryuuji’s eyes are not open. Good. This makes it easier.

 

He can sense Ryuuji trying to take his advice, feeling his lips twitch with the faintest of amusement as the boy ends up inhaling his shoulder in deep, and his delirious thoughts are somehow even less protected than before.

 

Ryuuji smells and senses things he’s never felt before from the Earth King.

 

Wet soil. Life. A quiet heartbeat. The smell of autumn and spring melded together. Flowers that had just bloomed.

 

Oh, wow.

 

He wonders how anyone could miss such a smell now, Amaimon radiates it, and Ryuuji is drowning in it, as instructed.

 

_Smells beautiful._

Amaimon doesn’t react, beyond going very, very still.

 

He sees a flash of Ryuuji’s memories lazily coming up. His mother – Amaimon supposes – watering some lovely red flowers that sat in a hanging basket over an inn. It reminds Ryuuji of home, and his body untenses even more, the pain reducing slightly as he begins associating it with the Earth King.

 

_The Earth King smells of Life._

Amaimon actually feels vaguely intrusive now, even if Ryuuji is lazily projecting all over the place, he’s not really been in awe of by many for a long time, and is considered one of the weakest on the totem pole of Demon Kings, and mortals very often lacked the senses and perception to sense what Ryuuji’s newfound physiology was detecting.

 

Shit, it was kind of nice.

 

Amaimon, always with the ego, allowed himself to preen in it.

 

He feels Ryuuji’s breath getting shallower, and the fear creeping up on him as his own heart slows, and the earlier thought of not wanting to be alone resurfaces.

 

It’s enough.

 

Enough that Amaimon puts the boy’s phone to one side on the desk beside the candle, and says, in the calmest of tones that only his trademark monotone could produce.

 

“You’re not,” as the boy begins to shuffle off of the mortal coil beside him, passing away for the briefest of moments.

 

“Smell the flowers, Suguro.”

 

He briefly stops himself from saying ‘Exwire’ or ‘skunk’ – and doesn’t flinch as the boy tucks himself into the Demon King’s side unwittingly, yearning for the scent of comfort and power, refusing to open his eyes as he takes a lasting deep breathe.

 

Amaimon is surprised – not only because he is so acquiescing but because even now, the rebellious loudmouth of an Exwire he had met previously was now dying quietly, and with dignity. The Demon King even went through the texts in his phone quite invasively and saw what he’d sent to his mother. Nothing dramatic, nothing to even say anything was amiss. He didn’t want to worry anyone, or something silly like that – he figured. How dumb.

 

Everything about Ryuuji Suguro’s handling of what was happening – whilst incorrect in doing it alone – screamed of a quiet, gentle dignity.

 

But it was still dumb.

 

A boy so loved shouldn’t be dying alone.

 

Then again, his Sire shouldn’t have left him alone in this world.

 

When Ryuuji’s breathing halts finally, Amaimon has the urge to pull the sheets up over the sweating boy, and does so, blissfully unaware as to how odd being tucked in beside him is, and simply begins to patiently wait for him to wake up.

 

Flowers begin to creep up around the headboard, to emit more calming scents to assuage whatever horrific sensation Ryuuji would wake up to.

 

Everyone’s Turning is different, but from what Amaimon knew, the process of turning demon on a mortal body in this invasive way was different to possession, consumption and most forms of demonhood. It was uniquely painful, he knew that much.

 

So the Earth King would be here.

 

Just as he’d promised Samael he would be.

 

_It’s going to be alright. I am strong, and I am here._


	2. Asclepias Curassavica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to FreeElf for R&Ring! Thank you :) I've got quite the journey planned for Ryuuji and Amaimon. Tiny chapter because I have class (final year! graduating!) tomorrow cus my final semester is starting and I'm swamped. The plan is for Ryuuji to go on a self-development journey away from the kind of life he has so far, being a monk with a steadfast goal of being an exorcist, and Amaimon is mostly here just for the ride - but, well... the Sire aspect. That... is going to complicate things significantly. Spicier content with a big pivot point after this chapter!

**Chapter Two**

_\- Asclepias Curassavica -_

It is a long time before the boy is to wake, and he regains a heartbeat, it is so low that even someone with highly trained, honed senses as that of a Demon King, Amaimon has to concentrate himself to hear it. The stereo has been changed to a more inoffensive radio station, All Night Nippon, just to fill the silence as the talk show host blathers on about whatever hot topic mortals were caring about. Amaimon didn’t care much for it, but it was better than stiff silence or any of the mantra discs that Suguro owned.

 

When Ryuuji eventually wakes up, he doesn’t immediately shuffle away from Amaimon, or even react negatively to the overgrowth of demonic plantation in his room. One cursory look at the placing and even with a throbbing headache, he is as sharp as a whip and can tell it’s designed to keep him in and therefore keep others safe. The flowers even seemed to serve a purpose of drowning out the scent of temptation while his senses were in overdrive, and true to his word, the Earth King was still present – and looking immensely bored. When he moves to sit upright on the bed, his entire body groans in protest and his bones begin to ache the way they do when he studies through migraines and is unable to sleep for more than a night while trying to maintain a workout and productive day. It’s ungodly, and feels truly awful, his muscle tendons feel like vibrating guitar strings and his teeth ache in his mouth. If it didn’t hurt to talk, he would have yowled in pain. In this time, Amaimon has sent a few messages forward to his brother, Mephisto, and has remained true to his duties and waited patiently while rummaging through the boy’s room out of curiosity and boredom.

 

“Welcome to the land of the living, sort of,” Amaimon said bluntly. He hopes the physiological aspect is over because it’s a long process and he isn’t sure how much more of staring blankly at Suguro he can take. He tilts his head to get a better look into his face without leaning forward and sees a few blood vessels have burst behind his eyes giving him a look of pained red corneas instead of white, which were already slowly healing, but not as fast as they should be.

 

“You look like shit by the way,” said Amaimon, trying to gauge some sort of reaction out of the boy. He’d even accept some mental reaction, but Suguro didn’t seem to be having any thoughts beyond immense pain. Demons are supposed to have a higher pain threshold, be supposes that Suguro is still shedding his mortality, and the rules are complex at best. It becomes apparent that Amaimon’s lack of specific knowledge on this type of undead kin is going to bite them both in the ass when it occurs that neither are clear on the specifics of Suguro’s change the way his aligned Demon King would be, or Mephisto, who just seems to know everything.

 

Not for the first time, the Earth King muses that it’d be better if his big brother were here doing this instead. He’s better at manipulating the reactions he desires out of people, and right now he had no real idea what to do with Suguro.

 

Then, his body trembles and he lurches forward, hands shoulder-width apart on the floor and he wretches quite suddenly. It even takes the Earth King by surprise though with how ill the boy looks it isn’t too out of the realm of reason, but demons don’t usually take ill, unless they have mortal parentage and a human body, the nature of Ryuuji’s curse changes his mortal physiology and classes him as medically dead to the untrained who cannot detect the quietness of his heartbeat. Those that take on demonhood from something like Vampirism do not take ill unless cursed by an appropriately skilled Exorcist, as part of the nature of their supernatural longevity. Amaimon is aware of that much, and a handful of basics. He rarely dealt with their sort, and fewer in Gehenna as they had no food source down there, and upon staying there are close to Satan’s side, seen as his left hand on Assiah, they are Astaroth’s most beautiful creation. He is a wrung higher than Amaimon in the eyes of their Lord Father, and only Beelzebub, the King of Insects, ranks as Amaimon’s inferior brother – often so weak he rarely even assumes a form. It feels like he’s taking one of his brother’s toys in a strange way, but Amaimon cant say he particularly cares, not maintaining a very good relationship with most of his brothers besides Samael, he’s even a little pleased by the idea.

 

Amaimon observes the Exwire, watching as a black, tar-like substance belches out of his mouth after he lapses into spluttering coughs after heaving most of it out of his body as vomit. It runs down his chin and into his facial hair and is as black as a shadow. There is a distant look in the boy’s eyes and Amaimon reaches into his thoughts as best he can, and immediately realises what is happening.

 

Ryuuji Suguro is inheriting over one thousand years of memories that don’t belong to him, and he isn’t responding well to what he was seeing. Immediately, Amaimon is certain which vampire had turned him out of the ones that had been exterminated. One of the First Ones had been destroyed as Amaimon recalls Samael making a passing comment on the efficacy of exwires managing such a large takedown.

 

“Suguro,” Amaimon says after a moment, before pushing him backwards into his bed as softly as he can manage, steering clear of the black puddle on the ground as Suguro gives out belaboured breathing noises, staring blankly at the ceiling.

 

“The rules are changing, and are going to be different for you,” he gives the Exwire an impassive look “-it’s going to hurt for a while, you’re inheriting a few thousand years of the one who turned you, because he was one of the First Ones. You’re going to have to tell my big brother that,” he said.

 

Suguro gargled out a noise before regaining enough consciousness to peel out of more of his clothes which had become so heavy with sweat that you could wring them out like a towel and have a puddle of water drip out, leaving him in his underwear and rapidly feeling his nails harden in his toes and hands.

 

The Earth King, unphased by his lack of clothes, quickly looks over him to see his Turning Mark and spots the small scratch on his upper bicep. Strange, how something so insignificant could change everything, it’d almost be comical if it wasn’t about to present some frustrating challenges ahead.

 

At the mention of the Chairman, Suguro can’t help but think that it would have been more appropriate if he had been here to oversee this horrific change, he’s thankful it isn’t the person responsible for his future as an exorcist, and someone he’d be dealing with from a business perspective in the future, because this metamorphosis feels…personal and it is somehow less offensive to have the Earth King there. It is easier having someone who doesn’t care about him watching him turn into a monster, it doesn’t feel like he’s disappointing anyone that way…

 

He isn’t sure his logic is even sound at this point, but nothing is making sense anymore, even the air feels heavy to Suguro.

 

He feels like he threw up the last human part of himself in a puddle of black tar, bringing up his bloodshot eyes to look up at the Earth King, trying to focus on the earthly scents in the room which had previously made him feel so safe.

 

Finally, he made an effort to respond to Amaimon, looking beyond defeated as his eyes ached within his skull.

 

“I’m hungry,” he crackled out softly, weighing the statement down with an immense sense of despair, disgust crawling all over his face as he admitted it.

 

And then, the Earth King walked back to the bed, towards the Exwire, in silent acceptance.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Surprisingly, the Exwire didn’t fight the Earth King on what happened next. He was hungry, and he knew what had happened to him. He had new, ferocious urges hardwired into his biology and so when the Demon King came towards him and rolled up a sleeve, presenting a blue vein pulsing against his near ivory wrist, Suguro couldn’t turn away, even as he shook with disgust and revulsion.

 

“Will this even work?” he said hoarsely, because Amaimon isn’t human, though he has taken on a human vessel for a thousand years, it wasn’t the same as a young flesh, unaffected mortal being, it more than qualified to sedate the feeding urge, if a little unconventionally.

 

Actually, Amaimon wasn’t even fully sure of that, but didn’t react when Suguro took his wrist and moved it near him with a trembling grip. He doesn’t do anything for the longest of time, and just sits on the bed, observing his own urges and needs with growing self-directed anger.

 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Sauce?” the Earth King finally snaps a little, though his passive expression still doesn’t give. Suguro flinches at the sudden harshness but otherwise doesn’t react until he feels the thirst hit him in waves when Amaimon violently shoves the side of his wrist into his mouth with little care for the fact he nearly smacked the boy in doing so. The moment he does this, everything is automated, and Suguro feels his teeth sinking into the skin before he can stop it and even his dull heartbeat feels like it wants to rip out of his lungs and impale itself on his ribcage with how disgusted he feels.

 

A hot, rebellious trail of salty water races down both of his cheeks as Suguro screws his eyes shut as the aching in his bones instantly dissipates, as does the pain in his closed eyes, but he weeps, because he feels the confirmation of his lost humanity in the pleasurable taste found in the blood that washed his tongue.

 

It was a euphoria like nothing else, like being tipsy multiplied by infinity – a high that chased the skies. The coppery taste felt closer to a sweet nectarine and the power that vibrated through the Earth King nourished Suguro so violently. It was like morphine, a liquid heaven – and it disturbed the Exwire so much that he pulled himself away – or tried to, only to be held down by a hard force in his hair.

 

Amaimon kept a firm hand on his head and kept Suguro clamped onto his other wrist.

 

“Listen Exwire,” he says, his voice taking on a low hiss almost. “You have – as they say, ‘lucked out’ – your Sire isn’t some _lowly_ old First One who still talks like it’s the seventh century. I am the Demon King of Earth – and feeding from me is a privilege,” a sharp edge in his words. Feeding from a demon like him is sharing in Amaimon’s power, and the boy can feel it, but does not relish in it.

 

Suguro cannot say he feels privileged to be parasitic, and Amaimon detects the thought as he projects it to him without realising. He cannot say he feels lucky either, he feels like he’s lost everything because all he can see when he closes his eyes is a sea of disappointed, saddened and astonished faces once they find out what he is. It’s enough to make him feel like there’s a lead weight in the pit of his stomach.

 

He kind of wants to be left alone, but there is no way that is happening – the Earth King makes it clear, he’s there to stay until Suguro sees the Chairman.

 

“Stay out of my way then, I want to at least pretend I have some privacy,” Ryuuji says.

 

“Well, what am I supposed to do? That’s boring,” Amaimon responded flippantly – as though this is the Exwire’s responsibility to deal with because his big brother usually has an array of things to do to keep him occupied and the monk’s room was rather sparse.

 

“So? What am I supposed to do about that? I have to figure out what I’m doing next,” he said. “Help or shut up,”.

 

Amaimon bristled at being spoken to like that and narrowed his eyes at the boy.

 

“I’m letting that slide, just this once, because you died a few moments ago and my big brother would be really mad at me if I rough housed you right after, but do _not_ talk that kind of shit to me,” he said with a low growl afterwards.

 

Suguro goes utterly still.

 

_You died a few moments ago…–_

 

“I died,” he agrees simply, before slumping utterly – as though someone had yanked out his batteries.

 

Not for the first time that night, humiliating or no – he turns his back, and he weeps.

 


	3. Hoc Coactus Sum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hoc coactus sum" - Latin, translated to "To this, I am forced and compelled."
> 
> (According to legend, a secret reservation written by bishop Hans Brask of Linköping and hidden under his seal on a document he was reluctant to sign.)
> 
> \---  
> A/N: so I lied about the pivot point, that has to be next chapter because this was getting crazy long and I need a clear and non-drunk head to write a guy like Mephisto, hopefully this was interesting and not filler.

 

**Chapter Three**

_-Hoc coactus sum -_

 

_The sensation of warm thighs weighs around his neck like a garland, feet draping to his stomach as his long, thick tongue scrapes down the left leg. A deep rumbling chuckle comes from the base of his throat. When he looks down, his arms are paler than Ryuuji remembers, and he sees red in the corner of his eyes, unable to control his body. Fine silk woven into the offensively bright fabrics rubbed at his wrists when he grabbed the ankles around him and shook his head. His dialect and manner of talk is strange. Draped in the fineries of the excessively wealthy, before such excessiveness became frowned upon by the shogun, Ryuuji feels a laugh coming up through his throat again, tasting bitter blood in his mouth._

_“The rich don’t taste any better than the poor,” the legs slide off of him as he rises to discard them callously, wood sandals becoming dyed with blood as the dismembered limbs lay on the floor, legs – long since divorced from the woman who owned them, who lay in a separate pile, carelessly tossed bloody through the folding screen into the other room._

Ryuuji woke up sharply, a noise reminiscent to a scream leaving him as he did. He startled himself awake, before peeling himself off of the bed and leaving a torso-shaped print as he leaned up against the headboard. It startles the Earth King too, who is now playing on a Nintendo DS he keeps in his pocket to try to whittle away the time.

 

He’s so sick of feeling tired and so tired of being sick, but this change was brutal on his young body.

 

“Suguro?” Amaimon called out to him – but Ryuuji just sort of grunts, shaking his head for a moment as though trying to shake the imagery out of his mind. The look on the guy’s face – the Earth King isn’t sure he should pry further, his experiences and his big brother tell him that humans had more delicate sensibilities – but what was truly horrifying the boy, imagery aside, is the fact that he had felt a shiver of excitement that he couldn’t quite place, deep within his physical body that made him scream himself awake.

 

 

“You’re still here then,” he says, but doesn’t sound as abrasive as he wishes he could. Amaimon’s toy makes a few sounds in his hands, but the Earth King doesn’t otherwise react to the weak attitude that Ryuuji manages to summon up. He’s just trying to feel normal, but it isn’t really going so well.

 

 

“You done feeling sorry for yourself?” Amaimon says, callously.  Ryuuji doesn’t react negatively, save for scowling at him. The monk ignores him, looking for some fresh clothes – he wanted to shower but, he didn’t want to leave his dorm just yet. He was just happy he wasn’t so concerned with the students in the academy, which had induced a beastlike hunger as he honed-in on the sounds of their heartbeats until the Earth King had fed him.

 

He dresses himself mechanically, almost like he’s in shock, but when Amaimon looks at his face, he sees nothing but a steely resolve.

 

“I was done hours ago, I was thinking,” Ryuuji retorted, though Amaimon didn’t look convinced. He moves to his chest of drawers and opens the very last one, where he keeps all of his cram school and exorcist supplies during regular school hours, keeping it independent of his standard education.

 

Amaimon isn’t surprised, his work reflects his well-organised mind, something that initially shocked him once Ryuuji had enough demon in him that the Earth King could establish a level of mental contact. He is deceptively smart in comparison to the rough, rebellious appearance, and having not known much about the Exwire before this, beyond him being foolishly brave, he had been a little impressed even if he didn’t voice it.

 

Ryuuji pulls out the only book he has that contains any mention of vampires, which he only possesses as someone whose an overachiever, as they weren’t even on the Exwire curriculum until much farther due to their high danger class. Typical that they’d end up fighting them anyway.

 

“First, I know you are not the Demon King who this ancient curse is aligned with, meaning you didn’t birth it onto Assiah. So, I don’t know how much you know or don’t know about your brother’s kind,” he searches Amaimon’s face for any trace of offence and finds none, so assumes it is okay to continue since the Earth King isn’t disagreeing about any lack of knowledge, and as someone with a notable ego, that must mean he really doesn’t know much.

He opens up the book to the small chapter it has on vampirism, it was a compendium of experiences mostly, from experienced Vatican exorcists and travelling missionaries whose experiences had been formally validated by the Church as genuine and assorted by a high-ranking scholar of the field – like most exorcist texts.

 

_‘吸血鬼_

_Kyūketsuki – Vampire – Vampyre; Vampirism, Vrykolakas, Strigoi, Shtriga, Shrouded Ones, First Ones_

_ Level: _ _XXXXXX_

_ HISTORY: _ _Early incarnations recorded of creatures that feed off of life force have been referred to as the Shrouded Ones in earlier chapters of this book, causing some confusion with Incubi and other night-visitors, but vampires are in a class of their own as of the 19 th century now we have a more advanced understanding, though much is still a mystery to us, this chapter will give you a grounded understanding of them and why their threat level has been elevated in the past few decades. It is said, from questioning by a precocious young Italian monsignor, during a closed meeting, one of the purported originators of the affliction was captured in Rome circa 1823. She revealed that the Demon King Astaroth visited her as she suffered from “dark predilections” and regularly gave him her body to walk upon Assiah. She feared death mightily and bragged that the Lord of Rot gave her the “Kiss of Decay” as a reward for her services as his first willing consort on this plane, and begat Vampirism into the world. It is said that vampires, when in Gehenna, serve as the left hand of Satan, as in mortal flesh they walk, but demon souls inhabit them, making them unique to that world, higher ranks of demon have referred to them as “Astaroth’s most beautiful creation” – an abomination to both demon and mortal kind, but praised one world, and reviled in the other. She spread the curse onto several others, before she was exorcised successfully by Paladin Jeremiah Melrose in 1921 when recaptured and documented in sealed records._

_ GEOGRAPHY: _ _Vampires, as they have come to be known, have earliest traces in the Balkans, though conflicting reports claim they have origins in Norway. Earliest clan movement in Asia has been traced as far back as the Edo period, and are now a worldwide phenomenon outside of Europe, leaving a bloody trail across the globe._

_ PHYSIOLOGY: _ _As vampires have diversified, so has the nature of the Curse. Physiological differences are hard to document as vampires universally operate in a highly sophisticated clan-like nature and are seldom caught. Notable differences in the strengths, abilities and vulnerability to sunlight differs. European strigoi differ greatly from Asian and South American strains. Universal traits, however, are blood feeding, preference for feeding according to their sexual orientation, varying levels of discomfort in uninvited places and a great weakness to holy objects and scriptures.’_

“Is that it?” Amaimon scoffed.

 

“They’re difficult to pin down – there is a bit on First Ones but just that the first vampire was the one to spread it. Not even anything on Sireship, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, this is the highest level of book I could check out without getting written permission off of one of the cram school teachers, and most of them don’t want me distracted from my immediate tests by reading too far ahead,” Ryuuji groaned.

 

“My brother will know more, he remembers Astaroth’s flirtations with that mortal, probably,” Amaimon adds as an afterthought. “Can sign off on some better books too, none of this baby demon hunter crap,”.

 

“The one thing this chapter tells me is that what I’ve got is extremely dangerous,” Ryuuji said flatly, before taking in a sharp intake of oxygen and braces himself for what has to come next. Amaimon actually isn’t sure where he’s going with this, beyond stating the obvious,

 

“If you hadn’t been here to monitor me, I might have – I’m sure I would have, done something unforgivable, from the threat level in this book, the safeguards wouldn’t have held for very long,” he admitted.

 

“That sad little salt circle? Yeah, you could have walked out of that once the sensitivity of your turning was over, it just made you weaker for longer and added a bit more pain to your process, any First One would have been able to kick its way out of that easily,” he sounds sure of it, despite his great unfamiliarity, he seems to be good at gauging the limits of demons.

 

“I’m not a First One,” he said, with a grumble.

 

“You were turned by one, so as good as, you have his memories, don’t you? I don’t think common turnings do that, but you’d have to ask my brother,” shrugged the Earth King.

 

“But we’re getting away from the point I was heading for. I’m dangerous, and if you hadn’t...” he falters for a moment, not wanting to think about the feeding the night prior “-hadn’t taken care of my needs, I would have posed a danger to the student body.”

 

“Like Rin,” he adds “-and we both know how that went. He’s only alive on the stipulation he’s useful to the Vatican,”. 

 

Amaimon cocks a brow - well, now things are getting interesting.

 

“The same will apply to me for sure, and all the safeguards. The students are at risk, and it’s going to cause more contention the moment it gets out. I’m not just some guy. My father is the head of the Myōō Dharani, I’m supposed to succeed him,” he shakes his head “-this is gonna ruin everything,” he groaned.

 

“Plenty of exorcists have demonic lineage, they’re usually the better ones,” Amaimon pointed out, unphased.

 

“You’re missing the point, they don’t have the same compulsions, or threat level. It isn’t the same,” Ryuuji groused “-think about it. How is this going to affect everyone? Hell, some of my friends only enrolled out of a sense of household obligation to protect me as well as become exorcists in their own right after Blue Night. They’ll be people in the sect that won’t be pleased that this happened to me, they’ll wonder if the Chairman can protect the training students on the course, never mind the entire student body from me,” – yes, waivers were signed before you start the cram school but it was bound to cause some inner political upset, after all, the Buddhist sect had only merged with the Order of the True Cross as little as ten years ago and about half of them made up the True Cross Order in Japan at least.

 

Somehow, it hadn’t registered to the Earth King (who usually paid very little attention to all this and got the cliff-notes off his big brother where necessary) that Ryuuji was someone that important. It seemed however, that in the grand scheme, he was more than just some dumb, overzealous Exwire.

 

“They might even think the Chairman let it happen on purpose,” Ryuuji sighed, rubbing his temples and closing the book.  “I’m not stupid, I’m fully aware of what people think about him, and my father – who, I mean, I love that old man but he’s frustrating, drinks too, not really a model monk on the outside, even though he is on the inside,”. Without realizing, the exwire had found himself being comfortable enough talking his thoughts out aloud to the Earth King that he wasn’t even looking to the demon king for answers, he was just sort of...sounding off, which made a massive change from as little as two days ago, before his sickness came to head.

 

A thought has been haunting him for the past few hours, actually, since the night prior, since he had taken blood from Amaimon, and he referred to himself as a Sire. Ryuuji is frightened by how much of his natural instincts attach sharp feelings to term. He isn’t used to the massive emotional crater he felt as he turned because that vampire that gave him the curse was dead. He knows why they need to exist though, and Yukio had been put in the position of giving them an extremely quick crash course on what they were after dealing with them in Kyoto. He hadn’t even been able to immediately assign reading due to the sparsity on a lot of the source material and the level of clearance required to withdraw and copy out the materials he wanted for such an advanced lesson, which is why he hadn’t assigned any chapters or titles on the topic. Yukio was, however, able to give them a rundown on the basic Sire to Victim relationship and how clans generally permeate, with a heavier emphasis on the more monstrous European Strigoi, as they were greater in number than the First Ones they dealt with in Japan.

 

A Sire was responsible for their induction into vampire clans, which varied in their complexity – to incredibly profound and highly intelligent groups that exist within the highest echelons of non-exorcist affiliated governments, to groups whose communities were relegated to “hunting grounds” in rural areas where less complex Strigoi would simply devour everything in their path with little social structure. A Sire, in some cases, imparts their strain’s evolutionary advantages and disadvantages to their victims, and their originator’s perishing can result in the death of the entire line unless they manage to infect someone before their passing, which apparently occurred after many First Ones fled to the Balkans after a clan was summarily obliterated from their creator and exterminated every vampire of that strain in Norway.

 

A Sire is also responsible for a fledgling vampire’s food source, and if they are abandoned by that Sire, they often almost never integrate successfully into their native clan and are known to deteriorate quickly from confusion, a lack of care, collapsing mental state and growing blood lust. If the issue then becomes a matter of exposure to the world, this inclines vampire clans to turn on their own and self-police the problem before an exorcist can, as has been noted in the Balkans.

 

“Before we go the Chairman, we need to do something first,” Ryuuji looks like he’s swallowing an incredibly bitter pill, and shakes his own head in disbelief, looking at the ground and sighing.

 

“We?” Amaimon immediately noticed the plural and wondered where the Exwire could possibly be going with this, but he seemed to be paining over the prospect of saying it.

 

“If you’re my Sire, from the things I know, we’re going to have to make it official – because if we don’t do it, your brother is going to suggest something similar and at that moment it is going to be out of my hands. My situation is already compromised because the Chairman sensed the change in the wards and sent _you_ here,”

 

Ryuuji’s eyes seemed to glisten with an intelligence that Amaimon had never had reason to take note of to appreciate, but for more than one time already, he was doing exactly that. It reminded him of ‘that Four-Eyes half-brother’ though had some sort of more palpable emotion, unhidden. In his naturally stern face, the Earth King can see so much more emotion than most.

 

His mind is working faster than his mouth and watching him talk like that is surprisingly mesmerizing, most people Ryuuji’s age just - well, they just weren’t typically built that way.

 

 _‘Also gifted, same scholarship as four-eyes’ –_ Amaimon remembers that, when talking passively about the strangling incident to his older brother. Now, he feels much less shocked by that fact.

 

“Which means I can’t account for whoever he’s already spoken to or whatever he’s said. If anything. So, to avoid the worst-case scenario I have to act as though that is happening and plan around it. So, we have to make this official before its out of my hands completely,” Ryuuji explained.

 

“I can use Okumura as an example, he is allowed to stay on two conditions, that he can control his abilities and that he serves the Vatican. I can assume that they would probably wanna handle me the same, ‘cept for one thing,” Ryuuji frowned and then glanced at the closed book, which had a few notes he added as he recalled Yukio’s crash-course on vampires.

 

“There’s one difference that messes this up though, Vampires are classed as predatory, and they’re right. Okumura...isn’t that,” said Ryuuji, his tone betraying some sadness as he had to use the word.

 

A heavy silence weighed after he used the word _predatory._

Amaimon can’t even really disagree with that, it’s just a statement of fact.

 

“First Ones are able to integrate into normal society, you’re not like whatever you learned about in class,” the Earth King can only really offer statements of fact as comfort, he isn’t really good at it and it doesn’t feel incredibly natural to him.

 

“Earth King, I’m going to ask something of you, and I need you to tell me that you will,” his voice takes on a softer tone, and Amaimon isn’t wholly sure what to do with it, and just tilts his head in curiosity.

 

“I’m curious enough to listen, go on,” he said, putting his Nintendo DS away finally.

 

“Before this goes higher up, I need a promise from you. See, things have to change after this and there’s only a few ways it can go. If I get given the same terms as Okumura, fine, but it won’t be _just_ that. If I... become dangerous, and hurt someone, I’ll have an execution sentence. Just like he did. Half of the True Cross are part of my father’s sect, and because it’s me, I know there will be someone in my family, my friends or in service to my family that will take it as their sworn duty if nothing else, and it’s going to break my family. If that has to happen, I don’t want it to be that way. It’s going to be a condition, I know that.”

 

“You’re thinking that far ahead already?” Amaimon mused “-you’re not wrong. It would probably be what happens, your family is deeply weaved into the Order,” he shrugged carelessly, but Ryuuji just carried on, undeterred by his blasé attitude.

 

“The moment this gets to my family, if it hasn’t already, those wheels will be in motion, and they’d probably even pick someone to be my standby safeguard and executioner if it comes down to it, just for the sake of keeping it in the family, or maybe even try to shelter me and that’d just make things worse for the sanctity of the Order. We need to be one, and I don’t want to be the chasm that ruins that,” he sucked in a breath “-so I need you to make good on being my Sire.”

 

“And take responsibility so nobody else has to. In my case, it won’t be a self-policing vampire clan that takes care of me after going rabid, it’ll be friends, or friends of my family. So I have to take that choice away, because I have enough shitty ones ahead of me now, that I at least want to control this one thing,” he said, his voice breaking ever so slightly.

 

“I want you to be the person who kills me, and watches for any vampiric predatory behavior, I want it to be someone who doesn’t give two shits about me, who wont shed a tear if I do something horrible, and if I die. This is why it needs to be you, and needs to happen before I talk to your big brother,”

 

He got up and leaned towards Amaimon, before inclining his head down mournfully, and respectfully, in a way the Earth King was not at all used to.

 

“Earth King, I need a Morinas Contract from you.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

_TBC._

 

 

_Footnote: **The Morinas Contract** (モリナスの契約書 Morinasu no Keiyakusho) is a magical contract enforced by a demon. Should the signer of the contract defy the conditions contained within, the demon will hunt them down and kill them. When triggered, a symbol denoting the contract appears on the target's body._

_The contract is signed with a fingerprint in blood on the centre of the contract. - Ao no Exorcist Wiki._

 

 

 


	4. The Faustian Favour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi im SUPER doped up on cold medicine (night nurse is dat gud shih) from being ill and totally pictured Ryuuji as Ira Gamagoori when the Kill la Kill soundtrack shuffled on as I wrote. If I had the time and ability I'd draw it, could you imagine our little beefcake in Gamagoori's various outfits? I could tbh. anyway pardon any deterioration in quality im doing my best but uni got me hella stressed plus im getting a summer job visa to work in the USA and you have NO IDEA how much of a pain in the A that shit is on top of my dissertation and other modules and boys being jerks in my debate class i'm absolutely 100 % done with life and this is my escape so please R&r and enable my escapism i love you
> 
> I like that people have suddenly discovered this story, your support keeps me strong! Onward!
> 
> Song of the chapter "Broken" - Lund

**Chapter Four**

_\- The Faustian Favour -_

 

Once upon a time, Astaroth was far stronger than he is known right now, in the times before Jeremiah Melrose, a Paladin of the True Cross Order from the United States, exorcised his first and last earthbound lover and original progenitor of the Vampire curse, it had far spread and diversified enough that the Curse had spread. It was said that this act is what weakened him and lowered him on the totem pole, and it had been a long time since the Demon King of Space and Time had laid eyes on the product of a First One, but he could see why, now. Staring at Ryuuji, Samael can tell that he is now gazing at a snapshot. A boy, frozen in time – he will never be older, physically, than when Samael lays eyes on him now – making him frightfully close to a Demon King in that respect, but only that one. He is still very much a fledgling, and his power, while great, would never match their own. Still, to think, the King of Rot had once held such power that he created such kin, it was...startling to look at, when it had been a few centuries since Samael had engaged in the company of their kind. The manifestation of Ryuuji’s own mortal body that he’d been born into, created purely through the copulation of regular albeit strong humans, now suddenly adapted to that of an ageless demon – skin forever waxen and soft, body mass roughly frozen into place with little change to occur in the next few thousand years, age-lines to never come, his bones almost seeming like they would crack trying to house such power – and yet, Astaroth had made it so. It had weakened him to create something so beautiful, walking the plane of the living and the dead. Ryuuji Suguro seemed more like a work of art in that respect. Briefly, he thinks he might be able to marvel at Ryuuji and his kind forever.

 

But that is not what Samael voiced aloud. He reclined backwards, dressed in a dark polo shirt and a new, finely pressed three-piece lilac suit, fingers drifting over to a piece of fine china on his desk. He said nothing as Amaimon welcomed himself inside, plonking onto a beanbag left from a previous gaming session, looking disinterested as ever. He just looked between the two briefly, before holding Ryuuji’s incredibly exhausted stare.

 

“It is nice to see you on your feet so soon, I thought you’d be a while,” is all he says, pouring himself a cup. He offers some as a second appears a short distance away, but thinks the better of it, waving his purple gloved hand over the second cup. Ryuuji masks his curiosity as the tea changes into a dark and almost viscous substance. It looks a little like wine, but it’s so dark it is almost black against the white porcelain.

 

“This couldn’t wait, Mr. Chairman,” Ryuuji’s voice is gravelly, and reminds him of stone-shattering, as though he’d done nothing but scream for hours. Samael doesn’t comment on it, and gently slides the cup across the desk with his hands.  He chuckles when Ryuuji doesn’t jump for the cup and reclines back in his plush office chair.

 

“My my, such a serious face Suguro! Lighten up some,” he gives Ryuuji a sharp toothed grin which has far too many teeth in it to truly be kind. It’s only now as a demon, that Ryuuji really notices the undercurrent of deception in the Demon King’s movements as he layers on charisma and charm, everything calculated and with far more purpose than he ever thought possible even as much as he suspected the Demon King of suspicious activity.

 

“You’re going to be handsome forever, surely that’s worth a little smile,” he all but chortles, and then urges him to drink – the fact he isn’t diving for it like an animal shows Samael he’s already fed. Curious. It isn’t something he misses as he glances between the pair, resolving to question the Earth King in private later. Ryuuji’s face doesn’t even crack, he almost glowers in fact, and immediately the Chairman gets a feel that the lighthearted approach was not the way to go. Ryuuji was a monk, and things like eternal youth were never on his radar of important things, - reincarnation, life, death and redemption however, were. Now, he was never going to age, never going to get sick, never going to die. This wasn’t a spiritual evolution for Ryuuji anymore, it was a full stop – Samael realized, perhaps a little too late, and almost regrets his callous tone.

 

“Perhaps not,” he says as an after-thought. “You should drink that, though. It’s a fine drink, all the way from Europe. Older than you,” he adds.

 

“I don’t drink,” said Ryuuji stiffly, taking the proffered seat that appeared. It looked like a very dark wine, and smelled like it too, but as he leaned in – he could smell the trace amounts of blood, yet so different from Amaimon’s – he cannot quite place why, but it’s been changed. Altered, somehow.

 

“You’ll be waiting a long time to turn twenty, I think under the circumstances, as _in loco parentis_ , it’s alright,” he says, he with a sardonic grin. “Smells divine to you, I’m sure. It’s vampire made, after all,” at his expression, Samael is quick to add “-Xenotransfusion, that is to say, blood from specially bred animals to thicken up the solution they make for this wine, I am told it is exquisite – and I suppose it has been a memorable few nights for you.”

 

This is sick... did he think they were commemorating his loss of humanity? Ryuuji almost wants to swing the cup away and smash it out of vindictiveness, but Amaimon’s disinterested presence is strangely calming, detecting the mild agitation on a visceral level. If Samael detects it, he doesn’t comment on it.

 

Still, Ryuuji wonders how animal blood measures up and if he can tame this beastly existence with it. In the name of science, he takes a sip, and cringes when it tastes like sweet honey with a faint aftertaste of fig leaf. It shouldn’t taste this nice. No blood should, and then, as if on cue – Samael adds something else.

 

“It’s mostly purebred British Lop pig...and the first French diplomat from the United States, Conrad-Alexandre Gérard,” at this, Ryuuji nearly chokes and Amaimon just gives his brother a vaguely amused look. Samael decides to omit the fact the British Lop is highly endangered, as he doubts the rarity and singular worth of the bloodwine from 1779 would mean anything to the former monk at this point. Ryuuji wanted to curse him out on instinct, but just angrily slurps down the wine – he hates to admit how good it is. Almost on cue, the bottle appeared with an exaggerated snap of Samael’s fingers, the cork screwed back into place. He has the nerve to wind a small navy ribbon around the near black bottle, it tied itself into a bow on silent command and sat tauntingly on the end of the desk, closest to Ryuuji.

 

“It’s good, yes?” Samael says “-I never had much of a taste for it, kept is as a collector’s item but truly it is wasted on one such as me,” not so much you - is the silent addendum.

 

“It doesn’t taste like blood,” is all Ryuuji offers, and it doesn’t feel alcoholic either, though he’s sure if he drank enough of it, he could slip into a blood-driven euphoria not too dissimilar from being drunk, which happens with overfeeding, something he has a large amount of memories doing from the creature who turned him. He feels uncomfortable familiarity with the bloodwine too and he doesn't like it, Ryuuji barely feels like himself these days, with so many memories that aren't even his.

 

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t to you,” Samael says, again, callous. “Pleasantries aside, we should get down to business.”

 

Ah, the penny drops.

 

“I’m a risk,” Ryuuji cuts right to it “-Like Okumura, but not the same. What I have is predatory, and his status is not. He doesn’t need to _feed_ and he can control a majority of his urges with the kurikara.”

 

“It looks like you’ve already given this a lot of thought,” Samael replied, giving him a curious onceover. Ryuuji notices, somewhat disheartened, that the Time King did not correct him of his assumptions, and there was no secret back pocket spell or safeguard that could neuter his newfound bestial urges. He does not disabuse Ryuuji of his thoughts, and waits for Ryuuji to follow up, since it was obvious he had a lot on his mind and Samael didn't feel inclined to try to pry because his thoughts were rather easy to read in this vulnerable state. He wonders why he should even give such a big setup to what he's asking - surely it would be obvious to a man as smart as the Time King. There's a whole lot of issues presented by Ryuuji's presence and only a handful of solutions that minimise danger to the student body. 

 

Amaimon wonders if he should interject that Ryuuji had given it  _so_ much thought, that he even pondered the legitimacy of being killed rather than live out with the complications of being a turned vampire with a biological sire such as his. Still, something inside of the Earth King told him to stay quiet, and take mental notes of how he was deliberating with his older brother. It was important you see, because, whilst he didn't know Ryuuji particularly well before all of this happened, he could gauge enough that he was experiencing huge shifts in mood trying to balance himself with this new onslaught of memories, and to be perfectly honest, the Earth King couldn't be sure how such chaos to the well-organised mind and so many decades of memories poured into one young man didn't result in immediate insanity. It might be progressive, honestly, it's worth watching out for. It isn't unheard of for intensely damaging possessions and exorcisms from the incredibly malignant of demons to result in long-term mental issues of varying degrees. Considering he was turned by one of the progenitors of Astaroth's magnum opus, it would be fair to assume that he is undergoing similar, if not, infinitely worse levels of stress. 

 

It was the only way the Earth King could understand the weak constitution, and the need to vomit as much as Ryuuji had - and actually refrained from mocking him about it.

 

"Okumura has had his whole life to get used to what he is, to come to terms with the unnatural realities of having demon blood. I - this is a lot. I'm sure you know." You know everything, was the silent, somewhat bitter addendum "-and right now, everything reminds me of something else, a memory that isn't mine. It has only been a little while since I...changed, and I'm already struggling to separate what feelings are mine and what's from - the change," he admitted it freely, and Samael was surprised with how forthcoming Ryuuji was, especially when, as charismatic as he is, Samael is busy - and spread thin over Assiah, can still be seen as ivory-towered when it comes to the inner politics and turmoil of his training exorcists. In fact, not even the Okumura's - who might, by some definitions, be considered familial kin on some level, do not come to him seeking his advice, mostly due to a lack of trust, but also because it is not a position Samael renders himself to. He isn't averse to feelings, he just doesn't paint himself as emotionally available - not with any kind of intent, anyway. That said, if a student did come to him with a quite personal problem, would he turn them away?

 

His answer may surprise some, but the answer is no.

 

"And you are concerned of the danger you pose to the students and faculty," Samael surmised, and Ryuuji nods - he knows a fair bit about vampires, he remembers when Astaroth engendered them, even. It is more common for weak sirelings to simply die if they do not have the mental fortitude, gradual insanity has also been known to occur - so it was somewhat impressive to see Ryuuji before him like this, trying to hold onto his faculties and doing so quite valiantly. He would have expected him to perhaps raise his voice, and desire to trash the room in anger and pain at what's happened, to tear up at what's become of him - and maybe Okumura would have, if the tables were turned, but this is the difference between the pair, despite how similar they are. Ryuuji Suguro has always been burdened with some day becoming a head of household, and keeps to the expectations of a young Master as well as he can.

 

Even when everything he knows is taken away from him through no fault of his own. It's quite admirable, really.

 

"An adjustment period is - not out of the question," Samael strokes his goatee in thought, knowing full well that Ryuuji would probably leave whether he agreed to it or not, because the last thing he wants is to hurt anyone, and the last thing Samael needs is for the Myoo Daharani to make his life more difficult. 

 

When there's a small silence, Ryuuji fills it, with an admission that he hopes pushes the headmaster to act.

 

"If you did not send the Earth King, I would have rampaged my way from the first years to the seniors, and torn the heads off of the necks of every faculty member that would come between me and them. I want to believe I have the restraint, and I did my best to restrain myself before he came, but it wouldn't be enough. I barely understand what I have become, but I have the memories of a centuries old murderer and I can't blink them out of my mind," his voice takes on a strained tone, and Ryuuji feels somehow more exposed verbalising to the headmaster than he did to the Earth King telepathically. It's awful, but he thinks that when it comes to the king of half-truths and time, he will get nowhere trying to outwit someone whose made it their life's work to outwit every human he's ever struck a deal with. He hopes this bizarre and unsettling feeling of camaraderie and entering this club of monsters was received, and not just something he's imagining just because his perceptive abilities have increased tenfold.

 

Amaimon actually blinks and looks up from his DS when he hears Ryuuji's admission, and is almost tempted to pry into his mind, but tilts his head curiously instead - before slowly inching his way closer.

 

One thing Samael didn't quite expect, was for Ryuuji to be so uncensored - but it seemed that his turning had undone him and he was frazzled despite his composure. Therefore, it manages to surprise both the Time King, and Amaimon, when Ryuuji's trembling hands get so awful that he's clawing at his knees as his only sign of insecurity - but his voice does not waver, with the horrifying admission that follows.

 

"When I tried to brush my teeth of the vomit from turning, and I couldn't see myself in the mirror, all I could hear was the sounds of bones crunching in my mouth, and visions of the sick freak sucking the marrow out of the bones of Norwegian children," Ryuuji barely withheld from balking, but such a graphic thought at someone who was wholly human not so long ago, and so very, very young - and terribly green to the lifestyle that his cursed diet would force him into. His eyes looked deeply troubled, and he didn't look well-rested, but now, Samael was more receptive to the torment that lurked behind his stoicism. 

 

He was just a training exorcist, and now a baby demon - and he was not prepared for what was foisted upon him, by force no less.

 

"Oh my," Samael says softly, but keeps his expression clear of shock and hopefully looks as sympathetic as he wants to. He almost regrets how callous his earlier words and treatment of the monk was, but not quite enough to apologise. Instead, he begins reaching into his desk and pulls out some paperwork. He reaches for a pen and a sticky note pad, with all the professionalism in the world, as though Ryuuji Suguro hadn't confessed to the most grotesque thing he'd heard all damn week. He decides the best port of call is to behave as a responsible _in loco parentis,_ especially as he had now entered a sort of...brotherhood, with demons, even if he didn't owe allegiance to them, he wanted to forge it, in order to keep him on the right side.... Samael's side.

 

"Well that won't do at all, will it?" he scribbles a number down from memory on the post-it note and begins penning something before Ryuuji fully articulates what he wants. He's Samael - he has some idea already. "I have a responsibility to the school, the faculty, regular and cram students alike. I have for you too, though - Suguro, and this is where the problem is. I understand that pulling you from classes is the obvious thing, but you need to tell me what you want from me. I cannot grant a favour if you don't tell me what you need. You've given it a lot of thought, and the only people who know your current condition are in this room. You have all the cards, at the moment,"  _because I let you_ is the silent addendum this time, from Samael "So lay them out, and tell me what you are thinking,".

 

_Where are you going Ryuuji Suguro? What is the future looking like, for you, now?_

 

Samael would be surprised if he had a developed answer, it's a big ask, but that is basically what he is asking without so many blunt words.

 

"I know that I am a high class demon and who I am makes it different. I know I can't lie to everybody, and I don't want to - but I want the space to figure out what I'm going to do from here, because I won't have any answers when my family and friends ask, and I don't want to be thinking about ripping their heads off while they talk to me," he says, bitterness seeping into his tone when he replies.

 

"I don't even know if I should even continue the cram school, and that's the only reason I worked for the scholarship to come here in the first damn place!" Ryuuji's frustration seeps through, but the headmaster doesn't rebuke him, and instead offers what he supposes is a kind smile, even though he can feel the points of his teeth showing in a way that very few people found to be endearing in any way.

 

Just like Rin, Ryuuji wanted to defeat Satan, and more than anything - he lived and breathed to become the best exorcist he could be, befitting of the title young Master, and eventual head of his Buddhist sect. That is probably all changing for him right now, and it is no surprise he's in a complete crisis point.

 

"Considering how you are a monk and will now be unable to enter many holy places and places of faith, I see how this is an issue," said Samael flatly "-and it _will_ be an issue, especially as Amaimon mentioned something about you being unable to withstand your own mantra tapes when he delivered a brief report a few days ago. Understand that this will apply to your home, and many of the places you are familiar with, as it often is with the nature of such an ancient blood curse,".

 

He doesn't mince words, and Ryuuji's mouth suddenly feels like it's full of ash.

 

_I can't go home?_

 

An uncomfortable silence fills the cavernous office which is voided only by the Time King scratching away at the paperwork with a fine fountain pen which is probably worth more than all of Ryuuji's possessions put together. The Earth King frowns ever so slightly, and sees that Ryuuji's hands have stopped trembling, and it's more as though he's glazed over in order to absorb the news. In a way, he thinks it would be better if he kicked and screamed and acted on his id - his most base desires, because surely that has to be better than sitting in that chair, fermenting in your own suffering.

 

Yet, it seems like the monk cannot do anything but that.

 

He doesn't even want to cry, he just sits there until his shoulders finally slope in defeat. It is uncomfortable staring at such weakness, but perfectly understandable considering the circumstance, but it forces Amaimon to look away disinterestedly. He isn't though, he just focuses in on Ryuuji mentally, but disturbingly, finds his mind devoid of thoughts for once, and just full of muted emotional turmoil.

 

"I need a break from school but I don't want to go home and I don't want to put anyone in danger, and I don't want the Vatican choosing my guard because my family will put themselves forward and I would have to put you in the position of telling them no, because I do not want this, and it is not the best way to get an academic favour from you, so I have absolved all of that responsibility, and gotten someone else to monitor me while I am out of classes," he finally speaks but his voice has gone completely flat, and he's not sure if he is imagining it, but Samael swears his speech has slowed imperceptibly, giving off that he's more troubled than even the Time King had fully been braced for and told.

 

He is surprised that Ryuuji gave it so much profound thought and even made a few plays before even heading to his office. How? If he hadn't left the campu--...

 

_Amaimon._

 

_What did you do?_

 

His head snaps to the Earth King and he just gives Samael a blank, unabashed stare as Ryuuji continues to explain, his fingers still idly tapping a button on the DS despite him not looking at it. Samael cocks an eyebrow - and wonders what the Earth King could possibly be thinking in order to do anything outside of the bare minimum remit of responsibility he had given him when sending him to Ryuuji. 

 

"I had the Earth King enter a Morinas Contract with me, he was gracious enough to agree," he flashes a bicep after rolling up a sleeve - and sure enough, the pure burn of an unhealable Morinas mark is emblazoned onto Ryuuji's skin. Samael raises both brows at this and stops writing, staring between the pair, eyes flickering back and forth before letting out an ungracious guffaw.

 

"So you did," said Samael flatly, wondering what the merits would be of lecturing someone like Ryuuji about entering contracts with demons - but - why Amaimon? Surely, if he was worried about it being a family member or friend, he could have asked the headmaster himself. He would have done it, too.

 

Why Amaimon? Someone who strangled him so forcefully? Did they form some sort of bond just by virtue of Amaimon being there to keep him from endangering students during his change?

 

And then it clicked, because Samael is far too smart for his own good.

 

"Little brother, have you taken it upon yourself to become a stand-in Sire for Suguro?" actual mirth leaks into his tone, and Amaimon isn't sure how to take that, neither is Ryuuji, but the Earth King shrugs as though it isn't a huge deal. It is strange though, because Samael doesn't see Amaimon willing to form any particularly warm bonds with Assiah outside of his love for decadent treats. What changed, or is changing? It could be good for him, Samael supposes, and the Morinas Contract is not only restrictive to Ryuuji, but Amaimon would not be able to cope with the consequences of not fulfilling it on his end. If he checks over the terms and finds them agreeable, he might be able to trust his irresponsible brother with the guardianship of Ryuuji. Maybe.

 

Either way it could be funny, he muses.

 

"I hope you understand the responsibility you have," he murmurs, nodding as he looks over the terms of their contract. 

 

"So, Suguro, what I can do - is put you on academic medical leave, no one will know but the regular administration independent of the cram school. The concept of the gap year which is essentially what you're asking for is mostly Western and not done, especially around the terms of a scholarship, but, if you wish to keep it intact, and your options open, we can call it a medical leave, and you may return to your studies at a later date. It wouldn't be a lie, and that part is easy - the problem lies in where you are going to go and what you are going to tell your family," said Samael gently.

 

That, Ryuuji didn't have an answer for, and sighed hopelessly until Amaimon decided to butt in - being his brother and all, he didn't feel bad about putting him out, or having lofty demands. It surprises Ryuuji and Samael when he steps in, but maybe that means he's actually taking his new role seriously.

 

"Eh, big brother - couldn't you just say he's on a mission for you? If he reports back to someone long-distance, it should be fine," Amaimon says lazily - knowing full well Samael has that power. He leans back in his plush armchair and brushes his goatee with his hands letting out an exaggerated hum.

 

"That could be possible, though depending how long he takes, your family will want contact from afar - and the lack of details on your whereabouts will make me persona non grata with your elders, if you report to your father once a month and myself over the phone, and Amaimon comes back with a physical report if there is any issues, and I don't see a bloodbath in the news, I shall consider it a success. It will be the least painful though suspicious way of doing it, I will be trusting you - little brother - to keep the public...relatively safe." 

 

That was Samael's way of saying ' _I know you need to feed. I know you will need to do horrible things, you just haven't let that sink in yet'._

 

 

 "I might even be able to get away with putting Amaimon down as your secondary Vatican escort on your mysterious mission, though that will raise more eyebrows, unless there is anyone else you'd prefer who would be privy to the actual details of your leave?"

 

Ryuuji shakes his head violently as a no, and Amaimon feels something...strange inside. Flattery, he thinks - ever so slightly.

 

"Why are you making this so easy?" Ryuuji croaks.

 

Samael gives him his unkind smile, eyes glistening with a deceptive sort of gentleness as he finished his paperwork which - upon skimming the title, appeared to be for Ryuuji's preplanned medical leave.

 

"Because you will owe me a favour, and you will keep my name out of things when the inevitable rage comes, because as I say, I owed you protection, and I failed - and you died. It is mutually beneficial for both of us, and I consider you a long-term investment Suguro - and, though it may surprise you, and you might find it hard to believe, but I am not completely without a heart." He wags his gloved fingers at Ryuuji in a lecturing manner and punctuates it with another smile.

 

A hysterical, and hair-raising little chuckle left the monk, his defeated slump slowly improving.

 

"As long as you serve the best interests of humanity, I will owe you any damn favour you please."

 

Samael let out a chilling laugh at this - and Amaimon grimaced - because Ryuuji Suguro had a long, immortal life to begin regretting those words.

 

Now, the last challenge, in order to make this go smoothly, was to say goodbye to his classmates, because a sudden departure would raise too many questions. Ryuuji had to figure out how to say bye to the cram school just long enough that they don't realise the monster that he has become - it is the caveat to the easy ride out, and Ryuuji finds that the most daunting of every thought to date. Amaimon could tell as much at the look on his face when Samael had let him part with that last condition to his departure, and almost instantly, the monk was swallowing thickly, like there was a mucus build up in his throat. Amaimon slipped the bottle of bloodwine in his jacket on the way out, and paid no mind and withheld his sneer at his weakness as Ryuuji's footsteps echoed out of the Time King's office, as white hot tears began to slide down his roughened features. 

 

Instead, a soft, green-sleeved, clawed hand pressed itself on Ryuuji's back muscles through his shirt, and reminded him of the Earth King's presence as a looming, stalking shadow behind him.

 

Strangely, that was enough, because at least - at least he wasn't alone.

 

 

 


End file.
